The Doctor and Donovan
by geekgrl113
Summary: The misadventures of everyone's favorite Time Lord and Junior Warehouse Agent. The Doctor and Donovan, saving the world and getting hopelessly lost!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello folks! So, this idea randomly came to me while I was driving in my car, because as of late, I've been hankering for a Doctor Who/Warehouse 13 crossover. I am of the mind that Claudia and Eleven would get along _swimmingly. _So...yeah! No real spoilers. Takes place during Matt Smith's run as the Doctor, obviously. :D

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Warehouse 13. Sadly.**

"What is _that?"_ he cries, his eyes wide with unabashed curiosity. He scrapes at his face, his fingers pooling the gelatinous purple liquid. He sputters a little, sending bits of neutralizer everywhere. Some lands on her jacket, but it hardly matters. They're _both_ soaked through with the stuff.

"That," she says, sighing as she turns and puts away the neutralizer hose. Her shoes make a kind of wet sloshing sound. "Was Anne Boleyn's necklace. It's kind of…jumpy? It likes to try and attach itself to—"

"No, nononono…I don't care about _that._ I know all about Annie and her necklace…I mean, what's _this?_" he indicates his handful of goo. She raises an eyebrow as a particularly large gob drips from the end of his nose to the floor.

"Uh…well, it's neutralizer. It…neutralizes things."

"Oh, that is just…_that is brilliant!_ Look at it, it's gooey and thick and _purple!_" he shoves his goo-covered hand closer to her face. She scrunches her nose, but can't keep the smile from her lips.

"Yeah, well, it _stains._" She tells him, a hint of a laugh in her voice. "So unless you want to be brilliant and purple for the rest of your life, I suggest we go and wash it off." She looks down at herself, her clothes heavy and clinging to her slender frame, and laments the loss of her favorite jacket. "I don't know about you, but purple's not really my color."

The Doctor grins his wonderful, vibrant grin as he steps forward and pulls her into a close embrace.

"Claudia Donovan," he says, eyes dancing. "You've never looked better."

**XXXX**

**There ya have it! Hopefully folks enjoyed it! Even if you didn't, feel free to review! Love hearing what people think. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** And we're back! With an update! But first, some explanation, because I don't think I mentioned it in the other chapter: These are drabble-ish...so they aren't necessarily connected and they aren't necessarily entire stories, per se. Apologies if that caused any confusion. NOW THEN! **Spoiler Warning: **Uh, anything in either show is fair game, but there's nothing earth-shattering in here.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Warehouse 13**

**Chalkboard:**

"_Artie."_

"No."

"But—!"

"_No._ End of discussion. Back to the board."

"Artie," she glares. "I'm twenty-two. Don't you think I'm a little too _old_ for the chalkboard thing?" She points accusingly to the smudged, green board in question. The older agent huffs.

"You're never too old to learn a lesson."

"Quite right," chimes in a voice from the other side of the board. Claudia frowns.

"You're not helping," she tells him. The Doctor pokes his head out and smiles.

"Oh, but c'mon, this is fun! I can't remember the last time I had to write _lines!_ Must've been sometime in third century China? Or maybe it was with the Greeks…you know, Socrates was a real _stickler_ and—"

"Both of you!" Artie yells, interrupting. "Back to the board! One hundred lines each! '_I will not set fire to the dark vault!'"_

The Doctor disappears back behind the board, and Claudia reluctantly joins him, begrudgingly picking up the small white cylinder and beginning line #56. Artie stops her as she finishes the 'will.'

"Cursive."

"_Cursive?"_

"Cursive. It's a dying art." He takes the eraser and smears line #56 until it's nothing but a ghostly white blur on the dark green expanse. The Doctor pats Artie's shoulder as he walks past them.

"Actually, in 2098, it makes a comeback. That, and shag carpeting."

"Comforting," Artie mutters, removing the Time Lord's hand from his jacket. He eyes the other half of the chalkboard, and his face turns a frustrated pink. "What…what is this? Are you _doodling_ over here—?"

"That, my friend, is _Gallifreyan. _Gallifreyan for 'I will not set fire to the Dark Vault.' Though, to be honest, it doesn't really translate all that well, so in reality, it says something closer to 'I won't intentionally rain destruction on—"

"You know what? _Fine. Fine. _Write in whatever language you want. I don't care…just…_finish your lines and clean up this mess!"_ And with that, Artie storms out of the office.

Claudia waits a few minutes, to be sure he won't hear when she asks, "Is that really what it says?"

"No." The Doctor looks a tad mischievous as he picks up a new piece of chalk. "It says 'fish sticks and custard.'"

**XXXX**

**And there ya have it! Hopefully folks enjoyed it. Even if you didn't, feel free to drop a review! I appreciate them. :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **And we're back! With another sporadic update! This chapter is AU. **Spoiler Warning: **Warehouse 13 Season 1 Episode 4 'Claudia' (not really but kinda.)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Warehouse 13 or Doctor Who**

**Alike**

"_You have to help me save him,"_ _she pleaded._

_"I swear…whatever happens, however hard…we will save him."_

**_ . . ._**

"So," she says, adjusting the minerals and jumper cables. "Nine hundred, huh?" He smiles sadly.

"Yes…well, closer to a thousand now, really." Oh, he's getting _old._

"Wow," she mutters. "Long time to be around, I guess." She coughs and swipes at her nose. It's started bleeding again. She turns away so he won't see, but of course he notices, in spite of her best efforts. "How long since…." she bites her lip and doesn't finish her question, and he knows what she was going to ask. _How long since you lost the others? How long since you started running?_

_How long have you been alone?_

"Not long," he tells her. It's a lie, of course, but that's what he does. He lies. "A few hundred years. It gets tricky with time travel, though."

"Geez," she breathes. "I feel like such a wimp...twelve years compared to a hundred…" She stops fiddling with the equipment. Lets out a shuddering sigh.

He looks over his shoulder and studies her face. She's nineteen years old; so incredibly young…such a stark contrast to his centuries of living. But her eyes are older. Experienced. They've seen more than her nineteen years let on.

Young and old, all at once. Because she's the last of her kind.

Just like him.

**. . .**

**Another day, another drabble! For those who might be confused, this fic is a kind of 'what if.' Instead of seeking Artie's help, Claudia somehow got the Doctor involved in saving Joshua. So...yep! Hope y'all enjoyed it! Even if you didn't, feel free to drop a review! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Aaaannnd….another random update! Someday I might come up with an actual schedule…until then, they'll just keep popping up unexpectedly. (Much like the Doctor himself.) **Spoiler Warning: Very light references to Seasons 2-3 of Warehouse 13. That's about it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Warehouse 13 or Doctor Who.**

**Acquaintance**

"How are you not worried?"

They sit in airport security. Jinks is tense, rigid, wound tighter than the propeller on a rubber band airplane. She's the exact opposite, slouched in her chair, listening to her iPod, relaxed and not at all concerned.

"I told you…I know a guy."

"I know a guy too. His name is Artie, and he said we're on our own with this one." He rubs his face in aggravation. "Ugh. I _knew_ we should've just shipped the knife!" Claudia shakes her head.

"Nope. No mailing artifacts. Not since Dr. Doomsday."

"Doctor who?"

"Someone say my name?" Steve nearly falls out of his chair, he's so startled by the tall, skinny man who seemingly appears out of nowhere.

"Geez!" he exclaims, flinching. Claudia snickers.

"Now who's the spaz, Jinksie?"

"Sorry I took so long, got caught up in 15th century France. And you know how _that_ goes." Steve examines the stranger, wondering how it is that Claudia knows him. He doesn't exactly seem like her type. The two couldn't look more out of place beside one another, with his tweed jacket and suspenders and bowtie, and her with skinny jeans and a band t-shirt and a streak of bright blue hair.

"You used that excuse last time." Claudia accuses him.

"Like I said, you know how it goes." He sticks out his hand. "Hello! I'm the Doctor. Pleased to met you. Meet you…sorry, tenses. Time traveling tends to muck them up a bit." Steve raises an eyebrow.

"…Time traveling?"

"Yes. I'm a Time Lord. It's what I do." Steve opens his mouth and gapes. He's seen a lot of strange things since starting at the Warehouse. Things that have…surprised him, you could say. But nothing is quite as surprising as this.

"You're not lying."

**XXXXX**

**I'm honestly not sure how Jinks would get along with the Doctor. Thoughts? Leave 'em in a review! Or, if you don't feel like talking about that, you can talk about the Warehouse 13 Christmas episode and how awesome it was. :D (Well, I thought it was awesome, anyway.) **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Hello all! Apologies for the lengthy lapse in updates...but I've working on this multi-part mini-story, so it took a tad longer than the usual drabbles. So the next several chapters will be a direct continuation of this one...because I think it's high time that the Doctor and Donovan saved the world and got hopefully lost. :) **Spoiler Warning: Season 1-2 of Warehouse 13, Series 5-6 of Doctor Who.**

**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Warehouse 13 or Doctor Who**

**Weeping Warehouse– Part 1**

Myka Bering liked inventory.

There was something…comforting about it. Something…nostalgic. When she walked the length of the endless Warehouse shelves, she was five years old again, learning to alphabetize the books on the shelf in her room.

_"Someday I might even let you organize the shelves downstairs."_ Her father would promise when he'd come each evening to inspect her work and read her _Cat in the Hat_. Of course, at the time, she'd been thrilled with the prospect of getting to help downstairs, in the _Store._ It wasn't until many years later that she grew to despise what was once a precious accomplishment to her kindergarten self.

_Wilbur Wright's bicycle…check._ She marked it off on the manifest. _Alphonse Pénaud's ornithopter…check._ She smiled. That took care of this aisle. Time to move on to the ne—

"Hey-O!"

Myka jumped, nearly dropping her clipboard. She turned and glared at her partner.

"Pete!" Myka cried angrily. "Don't _do_ that!" Pete grinned and tried to look innocent.

"Do what?" he asked. She punched him in the arm.

"You know what. No goofing off." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and eyed the shelves warily, unpleasant memories of a certain disco ball incident coming to mind. "Not on the Warehouse floor."

"Oh, c'mon Mykes." Pete laughed. "You're just mad because I totally _got you._"

"You did not _get me._" Myka's worried frown disappeared, replaced by a skeptical grin.

"Yes I did!" Pete asserted.

"No, you didn't." The two laughed as they headed over to the next aisle, Pete continuing to insist that he'd scared her, and Myka only halfheartedly arguing her case as she absently checked off artifacts.

"Alright, I'll concede that I was…a little startled. That's all."

"Psh. Startled. Yeah right."

_Michelangelo's claw chisel…check. Block of indestructible marble…check…_

"So is that what you came down here for? To startle me?" she asked, briefly looking up from the list. Pete furrowed his brow.

"What? No, of course not." He said dismissively. "Obviously, I came down here to spend some quality time with my partner. You know…work on communication. Express some feelings."

"Artie kicked you out of the office, didn't he?"

"…I spilled Coke on his paperwork." He admitted, cringing. Myka smirked knowingly.

"Why am I not surprised?" _Donatello's goldsmith tools…check…_

"Yeah, didn't come down here for the sights, sorry. Not a huge fan of the Ninja Turtle aisle. This stuff is _really_ boring." He poked at a drill on a nearby shelf. "I mean…the card for this one says 'drills holes.' How lame is that?"

"What do you mean, 'Ninja Turtle' aisle?" Myka asked, frowning at the list. Something was off.

"Well, you know…cause the Ninja Turtles…they're Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo...that other one I can never name…you're telling me you don't know the Ninja Turtles?"

"Must've missed them." She muttered. Was something mis-shelved? It was almost like there was an extra artifact here…

"Seriously? You never saw the movies, or the cartoons? Four turtles, kicking butt and eating pizza, with the dude in the hockey mask and the hot chick…uh, named after a month, I think, and—"

"That's weird." She said suddenly. Pete blinked.

"…Well, yeah, that's kind of the point, I think—"

"No, no," Myka waved a hand at him. "Not the turtles. This statue." She pointed at a small, hunched marble figure on the lowest shelf. It looked like it had been crammed haphazardly into the tight space, as its horned head was flush with the underside of the shelf above. "It's not supposed to be here."

"So? It isn't hurting anything."

"But it's in the wrong place." She said firmly. Pete sighed dramatically and glanced heavenward.

"Yeah…but…it looks heavy."

"_Pete."_

"_Fine."_ He grumbled as he stooped and grabbed the statue. He grunted as he attempted to free it from the shelf. "You…_erg…_so owe me…_nff._" The stone scraped nosily against the wood as it fought to stay in its current cramped space.

"Do you have the Farnsworth? I'll call Claudia, see if she can figure out where it goes."

"Back pocket," Pete told her, still bent over, grappling with the statue. Myka glanced at the Farnsworth's current location, and curled her lip in mild distaste.

"I'll wait."

Pete misunderstood her reluctance.

"It's probably for the best. She's been kinda weird lately. I think it's the new beau." He expressed as he finally yanked the artifact off the shelf and hoisted it up—it was about the size of a medium dog. A bit more cumbersome, though.

"What?" she asked him. She followed as he made his way slowly towards the end of the aisle, still grunting every now and then at the weight of the thing.

"Yeah…new boyfriend. I've only seen him a few times…I think he's a hipster. He wears a bowtie."

"Pete, that's not her boyfriend, that's—"

_KER-THUMP._ He set the statue down unceremoniously and wiped his hands on his jeans. He then slowly stood, grimacing a little as audible snapping sounded from his spine.

"Oh yeah…you so owe me for that. Gonna be sore for _days._" Myka opened her mouth, ready to shoot back a reply, but he held up a finger. "But I know how you can make it up to me. Taco's at the Univille diner. Your treat."

"I—"

"Oh, my poor, aching vertebrae…" Pete made an exaggerated display of stooping over, one hand braced against his back. "Oh, the agony! All because Myka had to be a nitpicky perfectionist..."

"Alright, fine. Tacos. But only if you quit whining." Pete straightened quickly, his goofy grin now a blank look of denial.

"I don't whine." He said, turning to head back to the office. Myka fell into step beside him.

"Yes you do."

"What? When have I ever whined?"

"When _haven't_ you whined?"

"Really, I don't think I've ever complained about anything…"

Their voices faded, swallowed by the endless rows of odds and ends in the vast interior of the Warehouse. They were well out of earshot by the time the familiar sound of marble scraping wood filled the aisle, and neither of them saw as a long-dormant figure began to stir.

**XXXX**

**There ya have it folks! I'm sure you can guess who the 'long-dormant figure' is. ;) Hope you all enjoyed it! Even if you didn't, feel free to drop a review! Oh, and STAY TUNED! Because in the next chapter, things start to get a bit strange...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hello all! Another update! Kind of a filler chapter, but it'll pick up speed soon enough. :D Thanks to those who read, reviewed, faved, added to alerts, etc. **Spoiler Warning: Season 1-2 of Warehouse 13, Series 5-6 of Doctor Who.**

**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Warehouse 13 or Doctor Who. I do own spelling mistakes.**

**Weeping Warehouse—Part 2**

"Artie, I really don't see what the big deal is…" The apprentice sat back in the desk chair, absently fiddling with a Post-It note. The older agent frowned and waved his hands frantically at her.

"The big deal? The big deal? I'll tell you what the big deal is, Claudia. The big deal is that you can't just go gallivanting off with a time traveling interloper—"

"Interloper?"

"—whenever it suits you! You are _my_ responsibility, and I will not have you leaving this century without my permission!"

Claudia grinned at Artie's manic back-and-forth pacing. She sat up straighter in her chair and put aside the distracting square of yellow paper.

"Dude, Artemis…take a chill pill, okay? I don't plan on making the time traveling thing a habit. It was kind of a onetime deal anyway, I think," she assured him, trying to keep the disappointment off her face. It was probably better if Artie didn't know how badly she wanted a chance to get back in the TARDIS.

Her statement made him halt in his pacing, thankfully. But his expression remained grim.

"I mean it, Claudia…don't do it again."

"Alright."

"I'm _serious."_

"I said _alright."_ Yeesh, what did he want her to do? Sign a binding contract or something?

He stewed for a few more minutes before ultimately taking a seat and heaving a weary sigh. He adjusted his glasses, as he was apt to do whenever he was stressed or flustered or thinking. (He adjusted his glasses a lot, come to think of it.)

"I was…worried." He mumbled. "Very worried." Claudia frowned. She hadn't realized he'd been so freaked out about it.

But then, The Doctor had promised to return her at the exact second they left. Unfortunately, he missed that exact moment by about 23 hours.

"I'm sorry, Artie…" she mumbled back. "I really didn't mean to…you know…"

"Cause such a ruckus?" he supplied. She laughed.

"Not exactly how I'd describe it but yeah, 'cause a ruckus.'" She was relieved to see him smile a little. "Are we cool?" She asked. He nodded.

"Copacetic." He told her. She groaned.

"See…you just ruined that beautiful moment with your old-timey slang."

"No, I did not. And let me tell you a little something about my _old-timey_ slang. It—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" The two agents entered the office, Pete with a confident swagger, and Myka with a long-suffering expression cast in his direction. "How's it hangin' peeps?"

"Hey Pete. Myka." Claudia greeted them, grateful for the interruption. She really wasn't in the mood for a lecture on Artie's preferred choice of colloquialisms. "How was inventory?"

"Uneventful." Pete replied with an almost disappointed air. "We had to move this ugly statue thing, but other than that—"

"Wait, no! No, no, no, _no._ What have I told you about _moving_ artifacts?" Artie erupted. Claudia rolled her eyes.

"Caution: Artie's in a crappy mood today." Claudia intoned. Pete shrugged off the comment and Artie's worried gaze.

"It was shelved wrong. Right, Mykes?"

"We were going to call you." Myka agreed. "To see where it belongs." Claudia spoke up before Artie could launch into another rant.

"Well, just shoot me a description, and I'll see if it pops up on the manifes—"

_Beep, beep._

Claudia swiveled in her chair to look at the computer screen. Red letters had suddenly appeared. _AD. AD. AD._

"Artifact disturbance." Claudia mumbled. "That's never good."

"No, it's not." Artie said without mirth. He stalked over and leaned against the desk, squinting at the screen. "That's…"

"The Ninja Turtle aisle." Claudia supplied. Pete grinned.

"Ah! See! Someone else _gets it!"_

"Not now, Pete." Myka told him. He nodded.

"Right. Sorry."

"See? _Never move an artifact_ unless…unless you need to move an artifact." Artie muttered, his statement losing steam after the first few words.

"But Artie…we were just there! And everything was hunky dory." Pete insisted. "And it was just _one_ statue. I mean, it didn't even look like much. Just some little gargoyle dude."

"Now that…that is strange." Artie said to himself. Claudia was already furiously typing, imputing the description and weeding out the artifacts that didn't fit the bill. "If that's…if it's what I think it is, that artifact doesn't do anything other than—"

"Stare?" Claudia turned the screen so that they could all see the page better. "14th century Notre Dame gargoyle that can hold an onlooker's gaze for an eternity?"

"That's it." Myka nodded.

"That artifact doesn't _move_, though. And it's weathered enough that it doesn't react with other artifacts anymore." Artie was still talking to himself. "So what's causing the disturbance?

"Can you pull up the security cams in that area?" Myka asked. Claudia grinned.

"Way ahead of you," she said, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Within an instant, a grainy, black and white image appeared on the screen. She clicked through the video files until she found the correct time frame. The familiar faces of the two agents appeared on screen.

"Okay, see…there!" Pete jabbed a finger at the computer screen, much to Claudia's annoyance. She now knew where all the smudged fingerprints were coming from. "See, I move it, set it down, and that's all! It doesn't get up and walk away or anything."

He was right. The blurry images of the Warehouse agents walked off the screen. The counter continued to move forward, while the aisle remained still.

"But then…what's the artifact disturban—" Artie started to ask.

"Look," Myka cut him off, pointing at the screen but knowing that Claudia wouldn't appreciate her finger actually making contact with the surface. "See, there…on the corner of the screen…it's hard to make out because it's out of the camera's line of sight…it looks like something on the other side of the aisle."

"Claudia, can you pull up another angle?" Artie asked.

"Sure." More typing followed the statement, and within seconds, the cursor was hovering over the 'new window' command. Claudia was all set to click on it.

But then, Pete screamed.

**XXXXX**

**Cliffhanger! What made Pete scream like a little girl? Find out in the next exciting installment of 'Weeping Warehouse!' In the meantime, you could feel free to drop a review...perhaps with a guess as to what made Pete so jumpy. ;) As always, reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: *Glances at last update* Hmmm...it's been a while! Like, a long while. ...Whoops. *sheepish grin* Well! As I'm sure many of you know, Warehouse 13 recently ended. For good. I really liked how they wrapped it up, and so...I dunno, I decided to write this thing. It's not much, but...yeah. Anyways, thanks for...sticking with this? (Holy heck, like...two years since I've touched this thing. So sorry.)

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Doctor Who or Warehouse 13.**

**Timeline: Spoilers for series finale of WH13, as well as most recent season of Doctor Who. **

* * *

><p>"South Dakota?"<p>

"Don't say it like that."

"Say it like what?"

"Like…you know, like _that._"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes you do."

"I assure you, I haven't the _foggiest."_

"…You just wanted to say 'foggiest,' didn't you?"

"…Yes."

Clara feels so at ease, when they banter back and forth like this. It's almost like nothing has changed…like everything they've been through recently is nothing more than a bad dream. Far off, unpleasant memories that are too blurry to properly recall, made indistinct with time. (She almost laughs. _Time._ So relative, when traveling with the Doctor.) But then the conversation will fade, the TARDIS will grow quiet.

And she'll be forced to remember. Forced to face the fact that the Doctor wears a new visage…and even though…even though he has _assured_ her, over and over, that he's the same man, _not all that different from a new shirt, a new pair of shoes,_ she's simply…not so sure.

"It's the wrinkles, isn't it," he teases her. And she wants to tell him, _yes, it's the wrinkles, and the new coat, and the new eyes, nose, mouth, hair…_but instead she throws her head back and laughs. _My, you are a vain, vain man, aren't you?_

Today, though…today they have a destination, they have someplace to go. _South Dakota._ There are so many places Clara wants to go, wants to see.

South Dakota is not one of them.

"It's just so…so…_South Dakota._" She laments, still trying to badger an answer out of the Doctor.

He smiles.

"An apt description."

"Come _on,_ won't you at least give me a _hint?"_

"Spoilers." He responds.

"What does that even _mean?"_

There's a flash of something, that jumps across his features briefly. Regret? Pain? It's too quick to tell. She's about to question him, demand an explanation, but then he's grinning again, gesturing broadly with his hand.

"Oh, just you wait, we're going to stop off at Mt. Rushmore and—well, actually, maybe we won't stop off at Mt. Rushmore…there's a clan of Iradian Monforms living in Lincoln's left eye that aren't terribly fond of me at the moment—"

He trails off, with stories of small, green men that dwell within some of the world's most beloved monuments, and Clara does her best to listen and smile when she's supposed to, but she finds her mind wandering.

_Where have you gone, clever boy?_

**X X X**

She doesn't believe him at first.

"Very funny," she tells him, even though it really _isn't_ and she's going to have _words_ with the junior agents, because _clearly_ someone has hacked the archives and is playing an elaborate prank.

"It's me," the stranger repeats.

She's not entirely convinced, but the longer he stands there, the more familiar he becomes. The way his shoulders sag to the left, slightly. The way he holds his hands, leans close when he wants to talk to you. (He would stoop a little, because of his height. He does so now, even though he's a bit shorter—there's no longer a need.)

"...Doctor," she says at last, warmly.

"Claudia." He says, wrapping her in a hug.

"Um..Clara?" Clara speaks up, interrupting an otherwise touching scene. The Doctor blinks. Whirls.

"Oh. Oh! Oh. Yes. Clara. Sorry," he stands back and gestures grandly to Clara, introduces her.

"Nice to meet you," the woman—Claudia—says.

"And…nice to meet you…" Even though Clara is so very, very confused. "…Who are you?"

"I'm afraid that's classified," she says.

"So...?"

"I _could_ tell you, but I'd have to kill you."

"She would. A messy affair. Best to avoid it." The Doctor agrees.

Clara can't tell if they're joking.

They don't stay long. The Doctor asks a few questions. They talk about a man named Artie, another named Pete.

"How long has it been?"

"…Too long."

"..."

"Does it get any easier?"

"…No."

They leave, and there are more hugs (the Doctor insists that Clara join in, so she does, but then all three agree that it was very awkward and they'll never speak of it again) and Clara doesn't start in on the questions until the TARDIS is up and away.

"Spill," she commands.

"An old friend," The Doctor hedges.

"A _young_ friend, if you ask me."

"That's not what I—"

"How'd you meet her? Who is she? What does she do? Why were we in the middle of South Dakota? Does she always dress like that?"

"Interdimensional problem. Like I said, old friend. She works. For the scenery. Possibly, I'm not sure. They might have casual Fridays." He replies. And it's positively _maddening,_ how he can answer her, but not _really_ answer her at all.

"I'm being serious!" She protests. "Who was that girl?"

He looks at her, and there it is again. Pain, regret, something in between?

"Not a girl, really. She's…much older than she looks," he says quietly. Clara raises an eyebrow, but then she thinks she might understand.

"Is she…is she like you, then?"

"…Yes and no." For a moment, Clara thinks she's going to get another non-answer answer. But the Doctor goes on. "She didn't start out like me, you see….Well, no. I suppose she did. A little. And now…now I suppose she's a lot like me." He scrubs the side of his face, eyes sad. "The last of our kind."

She steps forward, places a hand on his arm.

"Well then," she says quietly. "At least…at least you can be the last of your kind together, yeh?"

He seems to think about her suggestion. At last, he smiles.

"I suppose so."

And Clara grins, because there he is. She's missed him.

_My clever boy._

* * *

><p>Hopefully that wasn't too terrible...my apologies if it was rough. I've never written Clara, and Twelve has quite a bit of Eleven in him, apparently. XD Well, as I said, thanks for sticking with this, and sorry for the two-year absence!<p> 


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